I Thought You Would be There for Me
by Tristan-the-Dreamer
Summary: I am human. Has everyone forgotten? Trauma Center: New Blood. Prof. Wilken's POV, no slash, bonus. Minor spoilers.
1. Eve of the Operation

"**I Thought You Would be There for Me…"** by Tris

Prof. Wilken's POV.

**MINOR SPOILERS FOR NEW BLOOD**

Wow! My first Prof. Wilkens fic! Sweet! Tell me if you think I wrote him right. The second chapter is longer, so you know.

Whenever I play New Blood and Markus walks into the Prof.'s office, just the look on his face as he questions the Prof. about his condition…it makes me go AWWWWWWWWWWWWWW! Yeah I know I'm lame. On with the show!! R/R _s'il vous plait_...I can't spell French to save my life!

**Edit:** All finished, I've just been tinkering a little with the word order. Professor Wilkens FTW!

* * *

I close the door behind me gently and walk down the dim hall, returning to my room. One of the night nurses smiles distractedly as she walks past, and I smile back, effectively (I hope) hiding my disappointment and hurt. Markus…I thought you would be there for me when I needed you. I didn't think you'd let me down like that…

_"Have you been bedridden?"_ You asked this afternoon, as soon as you stepped into my office, with such gentle concern. I struggled to keep my thoughts together; it had been a painfully long time since I felt someone care. I'm used to people treating me with bland politeness, the older professor past his prime. And I know they keep aloof partially because I don't look like a conventional doctor. Rousseau has sharp-looking glasses; I wear a monacle. Markus, you keep your hair groomed to a fault--my long, gray locks border on unkempt. I've never fit a mold and I never will.

The truth is...your sensitivity stood out because this place is so unbearably cold. Dr. Chen is snappish and sour-tempered, Rousseau…no words…and the nurses do their work, murmur a hello and goodbye and then leave. When did I start living in this world carved of ice and snow, devoid of the warmth smiles or hugs bring? I see others, but they are puffs of breath, foggy ghosts that drift through me and leave nothing but an even more unbearable loneliness. That flash of kindness gave me hope…

I reach my door and pause as the thought strikes me afresh. Do you know what I wish, Markus? I wish you had never run away to that Alaskan wilderness. I wish you loved Stigma as much as I do and that we could be partners, researching this frightening miracle with passion, childlike delight and curiosity. Markus…I wish you could take over Concordia when I die, which may be soon…my body has grown so frail. Markus. Do you understand the significance of my telling you that my hands are not as steady as they used to be? I was handing you my honor, my dignity, because I trusted you would be respectful of them. I literally trust you with my heart.

And my poor Dr. Vaughn, can't you intuit another reason I came to your room tonight besides my request? It's such a sad and strange truth that the tiny child gets unabashed comfort in the face of the scalpel, but a doctor who is known for his research-- No, all seem to feel that such a person must face the pain on their own. Surely, they think, it's all a matter of routine to us…lies, all lies. How does getting older and wiser nullify fear of the unknown and unexperienced?

I shut myself into my room and flip the light off, sighing. If you had read my mind while we talked just minutes ago, you might have been astonished at what I wanted besides your vow to destroy the research. A quiet word of encouragement…maybe a pat on the shoulder, a "You don't have to worry about a thing Dr. Wilkens," accompanied by one of your grins. But it was clear from your face that you were in no mood to offer comfort, and I was tipped off as well by your flat, "I'll save your life. What more do you want?" So I was businesslike, even cold.

Now I pull the blankets up to my chin and pray this pillowcase will be dry by morning. _What more do I want?_ Oh, Markus…Only that the life you give me will be worth living. And though I am a man who prizes knowledge, I know that life isn't worth living…unless you feel cared for.


	2. Post StigmaOp

"**I Thought You Would be There for Me"** by Tris

Chapter Two

Here is the final chapter. There is some Luc-bashing from the Prof., but that's how he feels--not neccesarily me. If all goes well , I'll be able to get the spotlight back on Luc in B&B II relatively soon...anyway, hope you like this, especially my loyal reviewer Juicy Fruit! Ah yes...I couldn't resist a silly bonus. Did you know Luc is quite the poet? ;D

Edit: Burned and Broken is marked as complete, the rest of Luc's story will be covered in my new WIP, "Oh Lord, What Fools These Mortals Be." Don't worry about whether that beginning is just a stupid hook, 'cause it's not. I've got it all planned out. Lastly...I heart this story so much. Thanks for reading it. It's one of my favorites I've written.

* * *

"Professor? Can you hear me?"

"Yes, I'm fully conscious." I'm also shocked at how weak my voice is.

"The operation was a success, Professor. Stigma is completely gone and your heart is functioning normally." The satisfaction in Markus' voice is reassuring.

Val gives a tired but proud smile of her own. "It was…a complicated procedure, but we were able to complete it."

The happy moment is spoiled right on schedule. My eyes flick upward at the sound of the door opening, and Rousseau struts in without knocking. Flawless manners as always.

"Professor, I wanted to congratulate you on the success of your operation," he purrs.

"Thank you." Why do I feel like a gutter dog? I'm his superior…I tune him out briefly, but then catch the words "Stigma" "Recording" and "Operation" --too close together. "Recording?" I bark. "Rousseau, I thought I made myself clear! I only gave you permission to study the existing data!"

Instantly he's sweating through his coat. "Well, that's true, b-but I thought—"

"My orders are absolute…or are you scheming to steal my research?" As the shocking thought jolts me, I glare at him from behind my monocle; I know he hates my monocle.

"D-don't be silly, Professor," Rousseau tries and fails to be reassuring. "I'm completely loyal t—"

"I want everything in this room RIGHT NOW! That includes any extracted organisms and recordings of the surgery! I won't have my research where—rgh!" I grab my chest as a sharp throb of pain explodes in my thoracic cavity.

"Professor, please! You have to stay calm!" Elena cries out.

"Dr. Rousseau, can't whatever you have to say to Professor Wilkens wait until _later_?" Val's voice and posture are ice.

"Yes, well then—please excuse me Professor." And Luc is out the door like a bullet.

For a few tense moments I struggle to get my breathing under control. "Please…I'd like to be alone for a little while." I need some space, and some privacy; it's just sinking into my awareness that I'm wearing a hospital gown. Mercifully someone put a bed coat over it, but nothing can hide the fact that I'm physically and emotionally unstable. I don't want to be alone so much as I want to fall into a chasm and never come out.

"Then we'll return later to update you on your status." Markus studies my face.

"Yes," I murmur. "Thank you."

He follows Elena and Val, who are heading out the door. Something stops him, though--he hesitates and looks back. As he starts walking toward me, I look away from his crisp white coat, and gently flatten out a crease in my sleeve. He's looming over the bed now, rubbing the back of his head…What does he want?

"Dr. Wilkens, your blankets…Please allow me."

Such a soul. I guess I thrashed around more than I thought in my angry outburst. At my nod, he carefully tugs the blanket straight and flat, then tucks it around me like a parent would as they say goodnight to their child. "That's better," he murmurs with a kind smile, giving one last smooth over the counterpane. His hand reaches out to me, then stops and pulls back. I can see his thought process: _I know how to relate to my boss. I know how to relate to my patient. But…when it's the same person?_

"Thank you for saving my life, Markus," I say quietly.

He reaches out with more confidence and gives my shoulder a brief rub. "You're welcome. That is my job, you know."

I relax; the gentle pressure and care behind it feels good. When is the last time someone touched me like this, not just a token slap on the back or mechanical handshake?

A smile starts across Markus' face, unsure at first but quickly growing. He remains standing by my bed.

"Do you have another operation scheduled for this afternoon?"

Markus' brown eyes look straight inside me. "I have a sky-high stack of paperwork as always, but if you wanted some company, I'd be willing of course. I thought you said you wanted to be alone though…?"

"Just…stay a minute please," I murmur. I can no longer fight the growing heaviness of my eyes, and they drift closed.

"Of course, Professor."

I hear him settling down in a chair.

He must have been preoccupied last night…what other reason could there be? That's it—the pieces snap into pace. He was keying up for the grueling surgery, that's why he was distracted and tense. My mind fogs as sleep comes to claim me, the last thing I think is, maybe someday I will tell him…

…If I could have had a son, I would want it to be him.

* * *

A/N: Read the whole thing? Okay, go to Detective Anonymous' Deviant Art account, and read the mini-comic that covers the same time span as the first part of this chapter. ROFL!!


	3. Bonus: Luc's Poem

"_I Hate the Professor's Monocle"_

A little poem by Dr. Rousseau, scribbled on the back of his business card

----------------------------------------

You slice of a crystal orb,

Evil incarnate,

How I despise you!

Your flash and

Scintillation

Petrify my insides.

How I wish I could break you

Like a common cracker.

Do not spark and sparkle so!

Do not be so shimmering!

You are merely silicon

And I…

I am the world.

_-- __Luc Rousseau, M.D._


End file.
